


To Ache In Your Memory

by songofvelius



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Extreme homoeroticism, Larger than life Gabriel Reyes, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Soldier: 76|Jack Morrison/Vincent, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other, Poetic hoe Jack Morrison, Queerplatonic Relationships, Scent Kink, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, self-defeating love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:52:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofvelius/pseuds/songofvelius
Summary: They hold each other for a while without the pretense of humor, staring into the misty mirror before them that obscures almost everything but their faces. For a moment there, they need not wonder about the state of their altered bodies, or the damp contact between their skins made warmer by steam. It’s just the both of them with their cheeks resting against each other—Exactly where it is, and perhaps where it should be.





	To Ache In Your Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: just a snippet of something that will turn into a three-shot; a slow-burned mess of feelings that are coped through denial, escapism, and regret. 
> 
> The chapter centers on SEP-era Jack's perspective. It's not /entirely/ masochistic since there's an undeniable love shared between him and Gabriel that's fierce by all means, but the premise of it all is to encapsulate the struggles of emotional honesty in a war-torn age, underlined by the human-propensity-of-fucking-up-when-in-fear-of-rejection.
> 
> Jack flavor of the day? Gruff, buff, and pathetically in love.

R76-ers [and Overwatch multishippers] unite here!: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/songofvelius)

 

* * *

 

**Far from the breeding grounds of loneliness, away from hell’s rapture.**

 

* * *

 

There are times when the mere outline of someone can transcend the blood and smoke of skies made grey by war.

 

* * *

 

[“We’re down to the last big boy, you two. Sharpen up and get ready to flank from your side.”]

The omnic that overshadows everything stands at 20 feet, scoping out the area though optics that glower in a lethal shade of red. While it certainly looked sinister in the murky lighting, Jack finds that larger units tend to share an unfortunate curse like that of giants in stories—they were meant to function as mass-destabilization units that tank and soak up damage better than they can scout and see; a weakness that probably resulted from an imbalanced distribution of power to the massive body rather than the “eye’’.

   
The theory was proven to be sound considering previous mission debriefs, but Jack wouldn’t bank on a perceived advantage just from a design flaw in a war like this, not when that could mitigate itself in the enemy’s next upgrade patch. “Copy. Get ready to go high after I go low.”

   
[“Just waiting on what you promised me—we’ve got a lot to brag about when this is done with.”]

   
Not an ‘if’ but ‘when’—it’s a competitive spirit Jack endorses, both on the account of the relentless drive to supersede his own yesterdays, and the feeling of them against the world. He can already picture how Gabriel manages to appear so sedate in the face of death, sometimes with the slow spread of a macabre grin, pinging Jack with reminders when he doesn’t see the structural elements of a plan they need to fall into place.

   
[“Any time now, America.’’]  
  
  
The reference snaps Jack out of the casual imagery, the bottom of combat boots grazing against the uncanny feel of soil coupled with the fresh tinge of pulse munitions in the air.

   
“Blitz is working her magic, impending sync up in 15 seconds.” He tears his eyes away from the secluded piece of cement where his co-captain remains tucked away behind their target, shoving the shadow of Gabriel’s silhouette out of his head in favor of eyeing their trap specialist. “Make that 10.”

   
“Eugh, I miss the days when the two of you were too busy killing each other to be bossy.” The dark-haired agent was all but immersed into her role, virtuosic in the way her fingers work fast with radiant strings that web around a yoyo-like construct between palms. It was still a prototype trap weapon in its last developmental stages, but both Gabriel and Jack had taken a professional interest in the skillset and the wielder's tenacity to pull it off from the very beginning. “8, 9, 7, I guess.”

   
“Focus, Blitz. 6, 5, 4—”

   
She times the lock-down when Jack sees the anomaly. The omnic emits a low-frequency whir, mechanical limbs shifting in preparation for early engagement that has empyrean blue eyes narrowed in alarm up until he recognises the reason for potential detection: wisps of heat simmer that rise from the wall of cement he had been paying close attention to.

   
It could be something from burning debris, smoking barrels or maybe even a mere illusion caused by refracted light. But omnic-fire is indiscriminate, and with a sharp hiss of sound into his comm-line to signal for a change that Gabriel will no doubt intuit, Jack does a conclusive sprint from their cover without delay as he takes aim, white noises of the world slowing into nothing aside from the singular beat of his heart that’s been racing since the first rain of gunfire.

   
“Hey!’’ Blitz complains, but he’s seen how she is with her hands in dire straits, knows she won’t hesitate in execution as she adjusts to his pace. “Where’s the 3-2-1?!’’

   
“ _3-2-1_!’’ He unloads pulse fire ammunition into the base of the model’s main means of mobility, his body forced into overdrive to align with instincts honed through loss and war. The counterfire that follows his movements was fierce as expected, but so was Jack’s relentless talent at being just inches ahead while he stays on the assault.  
 

Something nicks way too dangerously close to the edge of his calf, but there’s a stubborn refusal to slow even at that—eventually, the towering omnic module’s auto-aim response stutters when its giant body is bound by hardlight-string in the same intricate pattern woven by Blitz's definitive hands, projected into materialization from the thrumming device on her chest—the blazes of the yo-yo starts from harsh stunts of light in gradual dimness; a time limit that she need not remind him about. “Binding secured! Get ‘em—”

   
That’s cue enough for someone to join the action with a leap far more powerful than the rest of them, strategic in the colossus climb up the expanse of metal and grime, fingers digging in to dent the surface to create handholds where there were none before. Louder blasts cut through the air to make good of Jack’s destabilization-shots, tell-tale in the way they’re dramatically timed like fireworks just before the curtain fall.

   
The entire room flares up for the simulation to burn away into data-bytes that return whence they came, leaving only smoke to be cleared away while analysts pore over everything.

   
Gabriel lounges on the peak of the collapsed omnic as the sky goes from an embossed red to gold that highlights his grin just right, sharkish in the way he takes in the sight of conquered land. He eventually centers his attention on Jack, doing a faux-bang with a shotgun, “Pushing it with the sprint there, sunshine—this ain’t high school track anymore.”

   
“Mercy on you that it wasn’t, tall dark and handsome.” He kicks back the little nick of a burn he feels at the cuff of combat trousers, mentally checking off his time out of habit. “Shame too, wouldn’t mind checking out that sweet ass if you actually raced ahead of me for once.”

   
Gabriel sputtered into a hearty laugh, and Blitz screams in the name of rioting at dawn, yoyo-strings waved wildly in protest, “Hey observation room! Can’t believe you’re hearing it from the lesbian, but I’d like to be reassigned to a straighter group, please!”  
 

* * *

   
Pan-seared halibuts are strewn across Gabriel’s tray with a healthy side of lemon caper sauce and strawberry salsa as he saunters to the lunch tables. Just when everyone begins to note how there’s an integration of red berries in almost everything the man eats, he brandishes another bowl of raspberries to share with familiar faces—incredible food was a small solace to be had since their continual qualification in the SEP program after all, and they had no reason to be shy.

   
“Record time against all existing co-commanding units, babes.” Gabriel announces this cheerily while sliding into his seat, quick to engage in some intense elbow action with Jack who simply steels himself in place and refuses to budge. “No official announcement per se, but that’s the grapevine.”

  
“Everyone else looked surly enough that I’m gonna call it a calculated assumption backed with great confidence.” A deliberate press of fork into his second serving of tiramisu, Jack revels in the crispness of caramel bits and hazelnuts with a hum. “Records won’t stay permanent, but we did good.”  
  
  
“Would’ve been a better one if you didn’t ogle the hunk of metal we were supposed to shoot. What good are you if you’re not dancing across the battlefields like the smug bastard you are?”

   
“One wrong move and it’d collapse on the flimsy piece of cement you were cozying up to. Plus, metal’s hot, you should strap some on—give it a nice BDSM undertone.’’

   
“See what I have to deal with?” Blitz had been sifting through her noodles with chopsticks during the exchange, sorting out some self-made puzzle with a focused squint. “Day in, day out, enough homoeroticism to drown out my own. Can’t for the compatibility assessments to be over and done with so we can just focus on weapon finalisations—” A surly glare when Jack tries to steal a meatball followed by a slap to the other soldier’s offending hand, “In _peace_.”

   
“Your plight would only end up being shared by all.” Tenerium reminds her, calmly stroking the bull-horned structure of his large helm once his gargantuan portions were finished up in the midst of chatter. “They’ve been matched up together more than once with increasing repetition ever since SEP. Whatever the politicians are smiling about these days, I fear it bodes ill tidings ahead of us all.’’

   
“Good looking super soldiers helming the future of Overwatch as co-commanders _would_ be enough to drown out any rumors about illegal human experimentation.” Givenchy teases this while reapplying a slather of vivid red lipstick, a signature that’s known to go untouched or smeared even in fiercest parts of battle. “It’s just a more feasible option now that Morrison and Reyes aren’t unhealthily competitive to the point of impracticality. Remember the rapid deterioration of training mats with the rate they were going?”

   
“It was beginning to become a logistical issue, yes.” Tenerium followed with a mournful shake of head, enough to evoke some guilt from those responsible. “My bonsais might’ve suffered from all the hostile energies.”

   
Blitz preened, chopsticks holding up a web of noodles that manage to have a meatball at its centre. “And that’s how the investors finally decided that yoyo-trap specialists were valid.”  
  
  
“I can vouch for that. But hey, belated character development is still character development.” Gabriel leans back, huffing a laugh in that seamless, lackadaisical way that always seems to draw a crowd when he wants to. “So less complaining and more celebrating. Because we—” A familiar arm looped around Jack’s neck, and it was simply instinct to wrap his own around the thick expanse of Gabriel’s waist while sipping his specifically-prepared coffee. “—are going to stay just like this, whatever we’ve grown into together.”

   
“Unyielding in the face of storms.” Jack supplies.

   
“Unburied by _death_!’’ Gabriel cackles with an imitation of a clawed hand up, squishing both their cheeks in a way that brings out just a bit of a fond smile that breaks through the gruffness when Jack presses back. “Leave it to Jackie to be the poetic one while I cover the flair.”

   
They share a mischievous little grin and a few more nonsensical gestures to provoke one another while Blitz manages a little sigh, “Real platonic, guys. This is just hitting all the zones of why-not-already.”

   
“Well, mainstream standards don’t always have to apply.” He concludes that with a kiss to Gabriel’s cheek, remembering to make an unabashed show out of it just to tease out that bark of laughter that coils up Jack’s spine and warms up his blood, watching the sun-flecked depths in beautiful brown eyes shine when he offers that lopsided little smile, “Why question what already works?”  
 

* * *

  
Late-night showers were a haven for souls seeking solitude away from everything.

   
“—So yeah. Physical intimacy can just stay what it is until it isn’t. Be picky _then_ slutty.” Gabriel proposes, muffled by the ongoing sound of rushing water. The chronological order of that process seems to pan out: the man has a trained eye for unconventional characters that can play into the larger scheme of things in unique ways.

   
In the cafeteria discussion earlier, Gabriel had been a living testament of how queer friendships don’t need to be held down by heteronormativity, easing into a performance like the true theater kid he was by pressing a flirty kiss to Givenchy’s knuckle in good nature. Both dark-haired with an appreciation for gothic aesthetics, their over-the-top Gomez and Morticia energy is so established they might as well start tossing black roses in the background.

   
Jack has no doubt the same principle applies to the rare few instances his roommate shows up in hickeys, runs a sullen hand over his own hair while Gabriel chatters on, “There’s no why-not, just what is—Plus, Vincent fits into the brooding pages of your poetry book well enough.”

   
The same reply to the same dance. “Don’t have a poetry book.”

   
“Sure. Bet you say that about your studyblr too.”

   
“You’re one to talk with your occult conspiracy vlogs.” He finally strips his top off then, the tousled up state of golden hair managing to soften the intensity of his gaze just a bit in reflection. “Besides, I’m just offended your theoretical scenario assumes I wouldn’t purple prose about the curvature of your thighs in _calligraphy_ and have Vince critique every entry.’’

   
Gabriel’s laughter is so incredibly _smug_. “Right back at you with those tetas, buddy. Guess we all know where all the farm milk goes to.”

   
They go at it so seamlessly, a far cry from when miscommunication and ego ate at their ability to hold a decent conversation in the earlier days. Friendships forged in blood and fire, promises etched into scars that only they can name; it didn’t take Tenerium’s observation for him to realise this could be the government’s end goal once the crisis passes. Jack ponders about the possibilities of going forth with a frown.

“So, you video calling him later?’’ Gabriel asks suddenly. There’s a brief few intervals where he waits for an answer in the middle of his long-session-showers, the kind where he plans to slather himself in expensive soaps and oils laters—raising a humored brow when he gets none. “It’s Wednesday. You know, when you two do your sappy-kissy thing—then I photo-bomb and slowly win him over until he concedes I’m cuter.”  
 

“Yeah, well.’’ Jack slides his belongings and phone onto the counter surface while the belt comes off, playing it cool even as he gauges the stage of completion to Gabriel’s self-care pilgrimage. “Don’t think there’s much winning to be done, the consensus is already that gothic princes steal more hearts than bland blondes pumped straight out of Captain America clone machines.”

   
“I tease you about it _once_ and you never let it go.” The shower seems to come to a stop now, and at the corner of the misted mirrors Jack sees the soaked outline of his best friend—doesn’t need to stare any harder to picture the powerfully built body, thick and luscious where it counts. Gabriel approaches from behind, dripping and unrepentant when he rests his chin on Jack’s broad shoulder, arm looped loosely around while his facial hair tickled skin. “Move on from that already, we’ve been through enough for you to know I don’t mind your mug by now.”

   
“So glad to know I'm tolerated.’’

   
“It's a balancing act. Keeps us at our lifelong honeymoon phase exactly where it is.”  
  
  
They hold each other for a while without the pretense of humor, staring into the misty mirror before them that obscures almost everything but their faces. For a moment there, they need not wonder about the state of their altered bodies, or the damp contact between their skins made warmer by the steam around them. It’s just the both of them with their cheeks resting against each other—

   
Exactly where it is, and perhaps where it should be.

   
Gabriel’s murmur is what breaks their pensive silence, offering a squeeze to the other’s broad shoulder in an attempt at reassurance, “Been locked up in your own head lately, Jackie. What’s wrong?”

   
He's gotten better at breaking his pauses sooner. “Wouldn’t say anything’s wrong.”

   
But nothing’s right. Everything in his blood and bones scream for him to just lapse into the moment and _make_ it right somehow, to say what’s etched in pencil and ink onto yellowed pages held close to heart—admit that being a good person has been harder and harder these days when there’s so much to long for.

   
“The final injections are near; it’s going to be more intense than whatever we’ve had burning through our systems. Everything’s always changing even if we pretend it’s something we’re going to be prepared for.” Most of the survivors haven’t talked about it at length in a casual setting, not willing to retraumatize each other and transgress boundaries. He caresses the scarred surface of Gabriel’s fingers, leaning back with a deep inhale. “So I end up asking myself: is there anything else you want?’’

   
He feels the other’s eyes on him when Jack asks again, this time with eye contact. “Is there anything you _dare_ to want, more beyond your reach?”

   
A fool’s folly, probably—to take a chance at questions with vaguely constructed parameters while shielded by language’s ambiguities, even when no answer will truly satisfy unless one were _honest_. “Maybe it’s a perspective shaped by war,” Jack murmurs. “But I’m getting greedier; I don’t know if I should be. But I want more than words can say.”

   
The implication hangs in the distance between them; they’ve fought past enough of the war to feel it chill the room, stalemated at the wordlessness that could mean everything or nothing.

  
“Depends on who you’re asking here,’’ Gabriel answers, fingers tense in thought; but he doesn’t let go. “I think what we have, right now, is the bravest we can be in consideration of our uncertain tomorrows. And I’m going to hold onto it all with my damndest—will you?”

   
He manages to answer at least that, unwavering in promise. “Always.”  
 

* * *

 

Gabriel leaves after finishing toweling off and promises to be in their shared dorm; that’s when the showerhead starts running again, and Jack can mull over the shifting heat that spreads across his nude body as time ticks by.

   
Then he sees the enigmatic little vials of oils at the side and a used shirt dangling unceremoniously by the hangar—he doesn’t even need to wonder who it belongs to. Staring at it with hooded eye lids, Jack breathes out shakily when he pops the intricate covers open with a thumb, even though he already knows he’ll smell jasmine, incense and a little bit of oud fragrance—how it seeps into his lungs and curls low in his gut like an erotic simmer.

   
It’s almost autopilot then.

   
Tiny droplets are smeared onto the camouflage-green fabric that’s been wrapped snugly around the man for hours on end; he savours the feel of fabric being held tight between his fingers before he takes a deep whiff and presses his face where the essential oils mingle with Gabe’s unique personal scent.

   
If only he could admit through the cursive scrawls across pages that he was clinging onto every facet of Gabriel’s place in their reflection, so intimately close to his, for this. When he reaches down to grip onto his own hardness under the unyielding heat, stroking himself to ideas beyond reach, it was done in reverence of Gabriel Reyes’ _everything.  
_ 

* * *

   
**[Vince:]**

**It’s okay that we ended, Jack.  
**

**But does he know?  
** 

* * *

   
The text goes unreplied to as the washing machine spurs into whirring action, water, and soap suds erasing all traces of his weakness as the night draws to a close.  
 

* * *

 

  **In the wicked simplicity of man,**

**That too indulged in poetic woe.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I emphasize my previous statement of ''pathetically in love''. Vincent's a real champ that'll have minor appearances when the occasion calls for it, but otherwise, we're going to see Jack stumble around with all the feelings he doesn't know what to do with. Honesty is so simple except when it's not.
> 
> Two more chapters to this pine-fest, both with drastically different timeframes from the here and now. I have a Noir and Wedding AU in the works for more character-build stuff, but otherwise, enjoy the AU smut I'm posting in retaliation to whatever Jack's hurting for.
> 
> At the end of it? A canonically established love with all its reassuring finality is great in its many versions; but the rampant downhills and upturns that lead to where it is great too.


End file.
